Crushed--Part VI

The dream was so real. We were in a forest. Actually, it felt like the ribcage of a forest. I felt its respiration—in, out. Or rather, expand, deflate. It was damp there. Inside the woody bubble. Smelled like the ocean. Or clean sweat. Was that the air or him?

            He, Jake, was around me. Behind me. I sat in the circle of him. Felt his breath stir my hair. He kissed the indentation at the base of my neck.  Right there. I put my fingers up to touch the spot and he kissed them too. There was pressure and softness, all at the same time.

            Wake up. I remember hearing the silent command. Inside my head. My eyes opened. Focused. I was alone. My heartrate slowed. Eventually.

           

I’ve got this. There’s a sentence I know. All I have to do is chant it. Over and over. Better yet, I’ll write it on my hand. Both of them if necessary. With a Sharpie marker. Look at it on the hour.  And then some.

            “But when you are tempted, He will provide a way out so you can stand up under it.”

            Promise me, God, that I’ll see the way out. When it comes.  

Millie and I waited for Silas on the front porch.  While he ran back in for her joint supplement.  

            “Can’t forget that,” Silas said.

            “You’re such a good doggy daddy,” I told him.

            He pulled the front door shut.  I stretched to hand him the house key.  He paused inside the screen door. 

            “What?” I said.

            “The phone’s ringing.  Should I get it?”

            “Look at the caller i.d..” Is this the way out, Lord? Right now? 

            “It’s Grandma,” he said from the foyer.

            “Don’t answer it.  I’ll call her when we get back.”

            We headed down the steps.  I surveyed the flowers by the curb. Orange daylillies waned. Black-eyed Susans were coming on.  You all are gorgeous. Keep up the good work. Millie did her business.  A block down. Right beside Mrs. Hinkle's recycling bin.

            I looked up from scooping. “Daddy forgot to put recycling out.  Should we . . ." 'Cause God could use trash. As a way out.

            Silas shook his head.  “Not now. He’s waiting.”

            Millie led the way.  She sniffed. Peed.  Munched strands of grass. Whenever she spied a cat or rabbit, she’d freeze. Crouch slightly. Her eyes would narrow.  I considered letting the leash fall.  To see if she’d give chase. But what if—What if she ran so hard, so fast, something broke, like it did with— I wrapped the leash around my wrist.

            “Come on, girl. Not today.”  Not ever.

            Silas bumped me with his shoulder. On purpose.

            “Yes?”

            “Did you remember your notebook? With your stories?”

            I nodded.  Patted the tote bag at my side. 

            “Cool,” he said. “And if he asks about why he's blind, what're you gonna say?”

             “I think I’ll just tell him my theory.”

            Silas's eyes crinkled. “What theory?”

            “That when faced with a crisis or tragedy, I haven’t decided which word to use there, people either turn to God or away. And then I'll expound upon that.”

            Silas's face went funny.

            I stuck my bottom lip out.  “No good?” I tugged the lead. “Millie.  Come on.  We’re not going that way. Or Job.  I could go with Job.  Remember how God didn’t do all that sucky stuff to Job? He just allowed the devil to?”

            “But then maybe Jake’d be mad at God for allowing him to go blind.”

            I puffed at my bangs.  “Guess I’ll have to use my go-to prayer.”

            “What’s that?”

            I put my palms together and looked at the sky. “God, do something. Please.”

            “Or you could just tell him ‘God works all things for the good of those who love him.’”

            My mouth dropped open. “Wow! How did I get such a smart son?” I handed him the leash. “Your turn.”

            We walked another block or so.  Silas broke into a trot. Glanced back to see if Millie’d do the same. She didn’t. He slowed.

            “Hey, look,” I said. I pointed up the street. “There’s Miss Wise. Out in her yard. We used to go to church with her. Back when you were a baby.”

            A thin woman with a blue-grey bob took tiny steps toward the sidewalk. Once there, she awaited our approach. Her hands made a shelf over her brow, shaded her eyes. 
           “Why, is that who I think it is?” she said.

            I smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Dana and Silas Martinelli. And our dog, Millie.”

            She reached out to Silas. Her hand trembled. A lot.

“This young man was swaddled last time I saw him,” she said. “Pastor Agnew sprinkled that little round head with baptismal water. But it was bald back then. Just look at it now.”

            I leaned against the telephone pole beside me. Felt a sudden and tender warmth for this woman I hadn’t seen in almost twelve years. 
           She gripped Silas’s hand and looked him in the eye. “I just made cookies. Do you like peanut butter cookies, Silas?" she said. She let go of him so she could talk with her hands. "The ones with the crisscross fork marks? Fresh from the oven? If you pick one up, it’ll probably fold or break in half.  They’re that warm.”

Silas looked over his shoulder at me. His teeth were clenched. His eyes wide. He’s embarrassed. ‘Cause she’s making a fuss over him. My mama’s heart knew.  I nodded. It’s okay.

He faced her again. “That’s warm, all right.”

“And ice cold milk,” she said. “I shake the carton real good so it gets froth on top when you pour it.”

"Yum."

Miss Wise moved her right hand to his forearm. Gripped it. When she headed for the house, he carefully matched his steps with hers. I closed my eyes. Felt a sting of tears.  My boy’s a good boy. I made him that way. Joel and I did.

Miss Wise glanced back. “I have coffee too, Dana. Folgers, not Starbucks, but I make it good and strong.”

I caught up with them. Took Millie’s leash from Si. “All the same to me,” I said. I looked up. Pinched the thumb and pointer finger of my left hand together. Sorry, Lord. It was just a little lie.

A half hour later, Silas and I inched toward her front door.

            "Oh, don't go," Miss Wise said. "You just got  here. Sit a spell."

            "We'll come back," I said. "We promise. Right, Silas?" Or, are we supposed to stay here with her all day? Is this the way out, Lord?              
            "Yeah," he said. "It's just, we have some place to be right now."

            I gave her a hug. "Take care, Miss Wise." I said. "We'll try to stop by next week."

             “You called her Miss Wise. Was she ever married?” Silas said when we got to the street.

            “Nope.”

            His brow furrowed. “Wonder why? She’s so nice.”

            “You sure you don’t want to take some cookies with you?” she called from her porch.

            Silas turned. Shook his head and patted his tummy. 
           “No, thanks," he yelled. "I’m stuffed. But thanks."

            “I have no idea,” I said.  “I think she’s beautiful.”

            Once we turned the corner, we couldn’t see her wave anymore. Silas picked up the pace.

            “I hope Jake’s not freaking out.”

            I took bigger strides to keep up. Squinted up the hill at Jake’s yard. He wasn’t out. There were no camp chairs either.

            Silas stopped. Faced me. “Do you think he forgot?”

            I shrugged. “Not sure,” I said. Or did something happen at the doctor? I felt my heart skip over the place where it usually beat. We stepped up on the curb and into the yard. The high grass tickled my ankles.
            Silas cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jake!”

            I pushed his hands down. Held his wrists. “He might be resting,” I said.

            Silas pulled loose. Handed me Millie’s leash.

“Hold her,” he said. “Something’s on the door.” He ran to see. That’s when I knew. This, that thing on the door, whatever it is, is the way out.

            I watched Silas cross the yard. Go up the steps. Stand in front of the door. Blood pulsed in my ears--ba-bum, ba-bum.  What is it? A note? A sign? What does it say? He yanked the paper off the door and ran back. Handed it to me.

            “What’s wrong?” I said as I took it. To make you look like that?

            “Read it.” 

            I smoothed the crumples on my thigh. Held it at arm's length. Waited for my eyes to focus.

            Dear Intruders:

            My dad doesn’t need your company or your sympathy. He has me!

            And we do just fine without you! Lady, I can see the way you look

            at him, but you’re not my mom. You never will be!! So both of you

            just stay away from him!

            Don’t come back,

            His real son

            I gulped. Noticed the instant slickness of my palms. And my underarms. I folded the paper in half. Did it again. And once more. Used my fingers to sharpen the creases. Tucked the note in the knee pocket of my cargo capris. Millie tugged toward the house. Whined.

            “Sorry, girl,” I said. “Not today." Not ever again.

            Silas didn’t move.  He kept looking back at the house.

            “Come one, Si. Let’s go.”

            He huffed. “But why? We don’t even know who wrote it.”

            “Oh, Silas,” I said. “Kevin did. Obviously he doesn’t want us here.”

            “But he’s at soccer.”

            I reached for his elbow. “No, he’s not, hon. I’m guessing he didn’t make the team.”
            I made sure not to look at the house. At the windows. I knew he was in there. Probably watching us. Maybe holding up his middle finger. I felt his anger throb. And burn. It was like a lighthouse beam. Come closer and you’re in big trouble, people.

            Silas’s eyes shone. Almost spilled over. “I don’t get it. Why doesn’t he want us to hang out with Jake? It’s not like he does. And what did he mean about the way you--”

           I rested my palm in the small of his back. Steered him and Millie toward home.

“I’m not sure.” I winced. Peeked up at the clouds. Another one. Not so little. Sorry.

Halfway home I put Millie's lead in my right hand and opened my left. Saw my sentence smeared. Maybe I should get a tatoo. Just in case.

And Then There Were Five--Part II

"I can make a boychild," I told my husband.  "Really, I can."

He smiled, a sure-you-can-(not) smile.  "I don't care what we get.  Another baby would be wonderful."

I went to the library and checked out books on the subject.  Then I got to work.  No kidding.  It was like having another job.  Wake up.  Don't move.  Take your temperature.  Record it.  Check this (You want me to check what?).  Do that.  Touch such and such (You're kidding, right?).

A month passed.  No baby.  Another thirty days came and went.  Miss dot-at-the-end-of-a-sentence came to visit.   Again.

I sniffed in my hairstylist's chair.  "It's never gonna happen," I said.  "I bet I have secondary infertility."

Becky smiled at me in the mirror.  "Hush, now," she said.  "Go buy an ovulation kit.  You're probably just off by a day or two."

Becky was right.  Month three?  Bingo!


"What do you see?" I asked the radiologist.  "Is it still there?  Is it?"

His face was an inch from the screen.  "Honestly, I don't see a thing.  I think we're out of the woods.  I'll doublecheck the films and call you to confirm."

My breath came out in a whoosh.  I grabbed my husband's hand and squeezed.  He pressed back.

"So," the radiologist said.  "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?"

My mouth fell open.  "Really?"

My husband's eyebrows went up.  "Right now?"

The doctor scooted his rolley stool around to face us.  He rubbed his thighs briskly.

"This is West Virginia," he said.  "I don't want to start a family feud.  So do you, or don't you?  Want to know."

I nodded. 

My husband shook his head. 

I huffed.

My husband shrugged.  "I like surprises.  So does my family."

I clasped my hands in front of my face and opened my eyes super wide.  "Pretty please?  I won't tell anyone inside the state."

My husband sighed.  "Oh, all right."

The doctor wheeled the stool back to face the screen.  He tapped it with his pen. 

"See that right there?" he said.  "That's what makes your little guy, a guy."

I grinned and clapped.  "I did it!  I made a boy!"

The doctor gave my husband a little shove.  "You okay, Dad?"

My husband leaned closer to the ultrasound screen.  His breath fogged it. 

"It's a boy?  Really?"

The doctor smiled and clapped him on the back.  "It's a boy.  A healthy son.   Congratulations."


Fluid, surprisingly warm, gushed from inside me.  I looked down.  The legs of my blue maternity shorts darkened.  The water continued on its way.  A puddle formed on the back porch, between my flip flops.  I shut my eyes and groaned.

The girls were swinging.  "Watch how high we can go," the older one said.

The younger one looked at me and put her feet down to stop.  "What, Mommy?" she said.  "Why's your face all funny?"

I glanced down.  "Someone bring me the phone."

"Mommy, you wet  yourself."

I shook my head and spoke louder.  "Just get me a phone."

"Right now?" my husband said.  "It's coming right now?"

My answer was a whisper.  "Yes."

"Dad's in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer, and I have someone in the office with me."

I nibbled my lip.  "Last baby was born 20 minutes after my water broke."

"I'll be right there."


"You could stimulate your nipples," the nurse said, as she glanced at her watch.  "Since your labor doesn't seem to be progressing."

My eyes bulged. I touched my cheeks.  Hot.  I crooked my finger to bring her closer.  So the whole world wouldn't hear.

"Excuse me?"

"Stimulate your nipples," she said.  "It makes the body release oxytocin which can move the process along.  Just slide your arms inside your gown."

She busied herself tucking the sheets around me, adusting the monitor beside my bed.  I tapped her shoulder.

"Can you close the door, please?"

"Sure thing, honey.  Your doctor's been paged.  He'll be here any minute." 

She pointed at the control panel near the bedrail.  "That's the nurse call button if you need me.  Don't forget.  Stimulate--"

I put my finger to my mouth.  She laughed as she left.


I had my birth plan all figured out.  I'd had an epidural with child one.  That was very nice.  I'd gone natural with baby number two.  Did the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar thing.  Not so nice, but certainly doable.  Given a choice, I wanted drugs on my third and final (Lord willing) labor and delivery.

"Can you write it in my chart now?" I said to my doctor.  "Put it in all caps.  PATIENT WANTS EPIDURAL AS SOON AS SHE ENTERS HOSPITAL." 

My doctor had laughed.  "We'll see."


"What do you mean I can't have an epidural?" I said.  "It's written in my chart.  In all caps.  Look it up!"

The nurse fussed with my sheets.  Patted my hands. Wouldn't look me in the eye.

"They said something like the anesthesiologist had a more emergent situation," she said.

My fingernails bit into my palms.  I gnashed my teeth.

"What is more emergent than a baby emerging from my body?"

The nurse cringed.  Her hands were like nervous butterflies in the air between us.

She moved towards the door.  "Let me see what your doctor says."


Within five minutes I was speaking in tongues.  So my husband says.  I was watching a documentary on television, about Mardi Gras.  I heard drums--a primal beat--and my head turned side to side, matching their rhythm.

I started to chant under my breath.  "I want drugs.  I want them now."

Another contraction started.  My stomach churned, and my eyes wouldn't focus.  I heard the nurse come back in the room, but she looked like she was walking toward me through a cloud.  She held something.  I squinted at it, wary.

"How about some Nubane, honey?"

I snarled my nose.  "What's that?"

She brushed a stray hair off my face.  "I think you'll like it," she said.  "It'll take the edge off. Help you relax."

I shrugged.  "Okay."

Prick.  Ow!  Warmth.  Oooh!

I collapsed against my pillows.  Let out a noisy breath.

"That's nice," I told her.

I grinned at my husband.  "I'm the queen of Mardi Gras.  And I'm floating.  See?  I'm on a parade float.  On Bourbon Street. That's in New Orleans, right?  Want some beads?"

I felt sultry.  I tried to purr.  The nurse grinned as she swabbed my arm.  She walked over and deposited the needle in the red box on the wall.

"Hey!" I said.  She glanced over.  I smiled coyly.  Blinked a couple times.

"More, please?"

She chuckled.  "Uh, no."  She sat in a chair at the end of the bed and nudged my knees apart.

I stuck my tongue out at her.  

"You're almost ready now," she said.  "I'll get the doctor."


I scooted myself up on my elbows.  "I want more Nubane, and I want it now!"

I glared at the med student behind my doctor.  "And I want Doogie Howser to go away."

"Be nice," my doctor said.  "He's just observing.  I won't let him touch you."

I blew air out my wrinkled nose.  "Is he old enough to hear me cuss?"

The med student cowered.

My doctor sat in the chair at the bottom of the bed.  He put his hands on my ankles.

"You ready to do this?" he said, looking between my knees.

I winced as another wave of pressure and pain radiated through me.

"Can't you just grab its head and pull it out?"

"Easy," my doctor said.  "Don't hold your breath.  That's it.  Breathe."

I tried to sit up when the fire started.  In my girl parts.

"Will whoever has their hand on my--  Dang it!  I can't even say the word 'cause Doogie--"

My doctor stood.  "Keep pushing!  You're so close!"

The med student got in my face.  "Do you want me to pull the mirror down, ma'am?" he said.  "So you can watch?"

I clenched my teeth and took a swing at him.  "No, I do not--"

Pain stole my words.  I fell back on the pillow stack.  Doogie slunk back to his corner.

I wanted it over.  Now.  I pushed hard.  Forced everything in me down between my legs.  My head felt like it was going to explode.  And I was so hot.

I panted.  "Someone fan me!  Fan my face!  Ahhh!"

And then the pressure in my groin dropped.

"We have a head!" the doctor said.

I felt my nose drain.  Then my eyes.  More flesh of my flesh slid out of me. 

"And we have a baby.  A perfect baby boy."

Everything in me softened.  Went limp.  Like I had no bones.  I whimpered.  Heard the pounding in my ears slow.

The doctor brought the boy child to me, still slick with his white icing of vernix. 

"Tell him, 'Hello,' Mom. He's a little blue.  He needs oxygen."

I stroked my son's face with my pointer finger.  Tears spilled onto my cheeks.  "Hi, little guy."

"Gosh, he looks like his dad," my doctor said before he took him over to get oxygen and a belly button.

"I made a boy," I said to the ceiling. 

My doctor laughed from across the room.  "You get what you get, you know."

I shook my head.  "Nope," I said.  "I made a boy.  With a little help.  Just a little."

And Then There Were Five--Part I

I never wanted kids, but then my husband said,  "Try it.  You'll like it."

I crossed my arms and huffed.  "Oh, all right," I said.  "Just one.  For you."

"Hey," I said when our daughter turned one.  "I do like it.  A lot.  But one's enough."


"How 'bout another one?" I said across the dinner table a couple years later.  "You know.  To keep the other one company."

My husband's eyes looked buggy.  "Really?"

"Really," I said as I handed him a spatula.  To scrape his chin off the table. 


So there we were.  At Sea World.  With the two girls.  And all the babies.  Good golly!  I'd never seen so many babies in my life.  In strollers.  In slings.  In backpacks.  Toddlers too.  Some were taking their first Monster Mash zombie steps.

I turned to my husband, and as I did, I heard my voice say, "Wanna try for a boy?"

I see the moment in slow motion.  My husband looked like he'd just chugged a pint or two.  His eyes were glassy.  Bright.  His mouth hung open.  Something came towards me.  From him.  Amazement?  Hunger?  Unspeakable joy?

I cupped his chin and lifted.  He put an arm around me and pulled me close.  Tight.  He placed his other hand on my belly.  I smiled as I watched the blonde Sea World girl in her blue and black wetsuit put the tee tiny fish into the giant black and white whale's mouth.  It was an I-can-make-a-human-being-with-a-little-help-of-course kind of smile.


I blipped my key fob to lock the car.  Ran into the house.  Called my friend Kelee in Ohio.

"Guess a what?"

"What?"

"There's a penis inside me."

I heard her huff.  I grinned.

"I mean, it's a boy."

"A boy?  Oh!  A boy," she said.  "Yay!  You're just like us--two girls and a boy.  Awesome!"

I nodded and smiled.  Leaned over 'til the sofa caught me in a black leather hug.


I stopped smiling when my doctor called.

"I'd like you to have another ultrasound."

Everything stopped.  My heart.  My breath.  Time.  My doctor's words sounded like they were coming through a tin can and yarn.  I heard apology in his voice.

"There's a spot on the baby's brain.  On the ultrasound film," he said.  "It's just a couple of millimeters right now, but I'm concerned.  It could grow.  Sometimes it's an indicator of problems."

I blinked.  Finally.  "Problems?"

"Or," he said.  "It might disappear.  I've seen that happen too."

I pushed my fingers into my hair.  "Disappear."

"I'll call you after the ultrasound results, okay?"

I hung up the phone.  "Yeah.  Okay."

I tipped over until the sofa caught me in black leather quicksand.


My husband and I?  We hardly told anyone.  We didn't want folks to worry about the baby.  Didn't want anyone to feel sorry.  For us. 

I mentioned it to a few people.  Praying people.  "Pray for our baby. Please?" 

I didn't ask 'em to pray for us.  That would be selfish, right?

Going Batty--Part I

I used to be afraid of bats because I thought if one bit me I'd get rabies and have to get 27 shots in my belly.  But a few years back, I got a blood clot and had to get 10-12 shots in my stomach anyway so now bats don't scare me so much.


Me and bats go way back.  They  used to get in our house in Huntington through our barn fan.  I'd be having sweet dreams, lying in my French Provincial bed, which sat on lime green shag carpet, safe inside my four Baby's Breath Pink walls.

In the middle of the night, my three older brothers would come tearing down the stairs yelling, "Bats!  Bats!  To arms!  To arms!"

I'd get my hamster Houdini out of his cage and take him under my percale sheets and quilt.  "Don't be afraid," I'd whisper.  "The Bat Busters will protect us."

The boys would then race down the stairs to the basement.  Our dog, Holly, a Beagle/Spitz mix, would follow them, doing the Beagle howl with great passion.  Dad would bring up the rear, grumbling and taking the Lord's name in vain.

In the basement the boys would don their Bat Buster regalia--winter coats, boots and gloves.  "Don't leave any skin showing," Dad always said.  "Those little flying rats will sniff it out."

The boys would each grab a paper grocery bag from behind the stand-up freezer and cut holes for their eyes and mouth.  After they put the bags on their heads, Dad would hand each of them a Wilson tennis racquet.  Back up the stairs they'd gallop, carrying their racquets and making a racket.  "En guarde!" they'd yell, stabbing the air with their racquets.  "Touche!"

Before they went back to the second floor, they'd call out to Mom and me.  "Women and children!  Abandon ship!"  We'd don robes and slippers and scurry towards the front door.  I always took time to clip a leash on Holly because I worried that all her howling might attract the bats.  Mom would grab her lighter and cigarettes so she could have a quick smoke during the bat break.

The boys would run up the stairs and back down, whooping and hollering and swinging the racquets.  I don't remember them ever killing a bat though one time one of the boys did sustain a minor head injury.

I'd stand outside on the front walk with Houdini in my robe pocket and Holly by my side.  Mom would stand on the other side of me, blowing smoke rings over our heads.

"Don't kill the little guys," I'd yell.  "Just shoo 'em out the front door." 

Mom would put in her two cents.  "Make sure you scare them good, so they don't come back."

Dad would stand in the hall, between the two bedrooms, giving orders.  After all, he had served in the Navy in World War II.  "Men, there's one in the corner above you," he'd shout.  "Swat it!  Shoo it!"

After all the fuss and fury was over, the boys would come out and fetch Mom and me.  Even with their winter coats on I could tell their skinny boy chests were puffed out a little bit.  "Everything's fine," they'd say in deeper than usual voices.  "The coast is clear now.  You all can head back to bed."

Mom would tuck her hand into the loop of a son's arm and look back at me and wink.  "I feel so safe having all these strong men in the house, don't you?"